


A Late Gift

by Filigree



Series: Roses [1]
Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Deathfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-24
Updated: 2010-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when you think the party’s starting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Late Gift

The bed-and-breakfast was in a quiet, green part of London he’d never seen before. Its fenced outdoor patio shimmered under mild June sunlight. A wrought-iron fantasy of a gate led out to a cobbled street. A few other patrons talked, politely distant at their own tables. Roses eclipsed every other scent, courtesy of the vines climbing on the wrought-iron fence. Last night, that perfume had even reached his second floor room, where he and –

“Klaus?”

 He looked up from the art magazine he’d found at the airport, and grinned at the slim blond man who stood just fifteen feet away inside the lobby door. “Guten Morgen, lazybones,” he said, pushing out a chair with his foot. “It’s still early enough for breakfast.”

 Dorian hesitated in the doorway. He looked adorably sleek this morning, with that gold riot of a mane pulled back by a simple metal clip, and dark glasses shading his expressive eyes. The graceful, familiar body was barely hidden by an olive-green knitted silk T-shirt and khaki trousers – a vaguely military look that made Klaus’ breath catch with renewed desire.

“I can’t, darling,” said Dorian’s languid voice. “I have to go somewhere…”

“…You mean you have one last heist to plan,” Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach snorted. “Not anymore. You have no reason to steal your pretty necklaces from that American jeweler.” He held up the magazine, tapping a glossy full-page profile of the artist in question. “I went to the gallery first thing this morning.”

The Earl of Gloria smiled wistfully. “And warned her against me, no doubt.”

“Nein.” Klaus felt his face soften out of its usual public mask. “We had tea. I bored her with some soppy sentimental bullshit about an infuriating idiot I know. Then I bought the damned necklaces.”

Delight curved Dorian’s lips even more, and he came just a foot further through the door. “You didn’t. Whatever for?”

“Sit down, sit down. Come see them. Don’t you remember what today is?” Klaus retrieved a small, expensive-looking paper bag from his briefcase. He waved it toward the door, temptingly.

Dorian crossed the patio and sat down. He pushed the glasses up on his forehead. His azure eyes narrowed against the sunlight, the pupils only pinpoints of black. “Remind me, Major.”

“Five years ago today, I kissed you for the first time. And five years ago tonight, you seduced me. It’s our anniversary. Happy fifth.”

“Happy fifth – “ Dorian repeated slowly, tears welling in his eyes. “Oh, no. Not now. Don’t do this to me now, not when it’s too late – “

“Sshh,” Klaus said, delighted and embarrassed by his lover’s easy shifts of emotion. “Look.” He spilled a polished-oak case out of the bag, and slid the top open. Within the case, two severely-plain platinum chains gleamed against black velvet. One chain threaded a three-centimeter-long emerald teardrop; the other, an equally-large aquamarine drop the same color as Dorian’s eyes.

“Oh, Klaus.” Drawn by beauty, Dorian’s fingers reached out, shaking, to lift the chains into the sunlight. “Wait – they’re carved!”

“Ja. She was very understanding. She carved your rose on the aquamarine, and the Eberbach boar on the emerald. Do you approve?”

“They’re gorgeous.”

“Gut. Let me put yours on you.” Klaus leaned toward Dorian, but the golden-haired man pulled back, clenching the emerald necklace.

“No,” said Dorian. “No, darling. You must wear my Rose. I’ll take the Boar with me. I really should go, now.”

“But you haven’t eaten yet,” Klaus said, “And you’ve got that television interview at 1400 hours.”

Dorian’s mobile face went blank. “Why would I willingly put myself on film, darling?”

Klaus let himself purr a bit. “I can see why you balk – I hate the spotlight, too. But you’re a celebrity now, Lord Gloria. The most photogenic of art historians and appraisers. And completely legal, for once in your life. Or did you think the BBC wouldn’t jump at the chance to offer you your own programme? You’re so perfectly Cool Britannia, love.”

Dorian winced. “Ugh. Share a telly commercial spot with – say – Austin Powers?” he muttered, head between his hands. Between two slender fingers, a blue eye flashed resentfully back at Klaus. “So you do want me, but you want me safe and as securely conventional as possible, too – “

Klaus smiled again, looking beyond this spat as he had all the others. Their clashes only made reconciliation sweeter. “I want you safe, ja. Away from NATO missions and whatever illicit art foolishness you get into. The last time, when that Serbian bullet barely missed you, I thought I would never forgive myself if you died.”

But this time, earnestness got him no dazzling smile as a reward. “You self-deluded bastard!” Dorian snarled, the emerald necklace still locked in one fist. “Is that what it would take to win you? You’d let yourself love me, but only if you could change me into someone less embarrassing? Hell, Klaus, you’re no better than a scheming woman. And I won’t turn into some sort of – of – politically-correct trophy wife for the future Chancellor Eberbach!” He glared at the necklace suddenly, and flung it back on the table. “Oh, Major, I’m so glad we had this little talk. At least I finally know what a horrid mistake it would have been.”

“‘Mistake’? You won’t do the programme?”

“I can’t,” sighed Dorian, standing up. Like clouds scudding across sunlight, bitterness and adoration came and went across his face. “I’d try any absurdity for you, if it would let me keep you. I love you so much, my darling, beautiful Major. But I can’t stay.”

“You’re leaving me?” Klaus felt the little table fall away as he lunged for Dorian’s arm. The ex-thief pivoted into the grip, slamming up against Klaus’ chest. Lithe arms twined behind the Major’s neck, hands locked painfully into his dark hair. Dorian devoured his mouth with a fiercely possessive kiss – then pushed him away.

“I have no choice, Klaus. The bullet didn’t miss. Remember me,” Dorian whispered, tears freely slicking his cheeks. “After all the years I chased you, this is all we’ll share, now. Dear heart, wake up and let me go! And don’t follow me too soon. You’ve too much work to do – “

Other people on the patio were staring now, chattering and elbowing each other:

“Isn’t that – “

“Oh my God, it is!”

“Who’s that surly dark bloke with him?”

Klaus heard them dimly, ashamed at the scene he’d just caused. His mouth tasted of roses and salt. He was a fraction too slow, and the iron gate to the sidewalk clanged shut in front of him. “Wait!” he called.

Dorian did not look back. His bright hair was the last thing Klaus could follow, through a sudden crowd of pedestrians out on the street –

* * *

Cold. So cold. His mouth, throat, and chest were icy, as if he’d swallowed a drowning lungful of glacial water.

Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach coughed. Shivered. Woke in pre-dawn darkness, as he cried silently into the pillow locked in his arms. Volleys of rain hammered on the windows. Blue-white lightning illumined the antiseptic hotel room, with his one staid piece of luggage, his black suit hanging in the open closet, and a solitary art magazine methodically shredded on the floor. The air around the bed smelled faintly of roses and salt, and was so frozen he could see his breath. On the back of his neck, the hairs bristled with the awareness that someone else had been in the room, only a few seconds before –

The sense of presence faded. But the dream returned to him, in mocking clarity.

He was in London, all right, and –

Mein Gott.

The funeral was today.

end


End file.
